"You have had some trouble with him, have you, Tracy?" asked Frank.
"Confound his hide! yes, I have. He has no business here at this time. His place is discharging the rock as it comes out. The fact that he's here counts against him. Turn him over to me."
"Instead of that," said Frank, thrusting his revolver into his holster, "I think I'll take care of him. Come in here, Anson."
Tracy seemed astonished and disgusted.
"What are you going to do?" he asked.
"I'm going to see if I can't dress that hand and keep him from bleeding to death," was Merriwell's answer.
"Well, by thunder!" muttered the foreman.